


Astraphobia

by Amp3tamin3dr3ams



Series: H2OVanoss Phobias Mini Series [2]
Category: BBS - Fandom, Banana Bus Squad
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6221179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amp3tamin3dr3ams/pseuds/Amp3tamin3dr3ams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>After, like, four months I finally got around to writing this. I'm so sorry guys and this probably wasn't worth the wait lol Personal things kept coming up but I'm back at it again, baby! If you have any suggestions or requests, let me know. :)</p><p>(If the ending seems rushed and shitty, that's because it is. I wrote this in an hour while on a caffeine high and I suck at endings.)</p></blockquote>





	Astraphobia

Jonathan wasn’t afraid of many things. He loved anything that showed the darkest side of humanity. When most people shielded their eyes and hid underneath their blankets, he watched in grotesque fascination and leaned into the television even more. Hell, The Exorcist was one of his favorite movies and that was deemed the scariest movie in American film. He lived off of the adrenaline rush, the anxiety before a jump scare, the screams of absolute terror, the gore, the twists and turns—all of that made him laugh manically and fall more and more in love with it.

Jonathan was a dare devil that was enamored by things most people were scared of, but everyone is afraid of something, right? Everyone had that one thing that made their heart drop in their stomach, the acid to bubble and work its way into their throat, their lungs to deflated and inflate to the point where they thought they were going to explode, their palms to get slick with sweat. For someone who was a lover of anything macabre, it would seem it would take something extreme to scare the shit out of them, right?

Nope. All it took was some stupid fucking rain, thunder, and lighting to have Jonathan hiding under his blankets, which he was currently doing. He was gritting his teeth so hard, he thought they’d shatter. A small part of him hoped they would so he had something else to focus on besides this stupid storm. His fingers could barely grip the blankets because they were so sweaty, and he struggled to the keep the blanket over his head. The skin around his knuckles was so tight, he felt as though it’d split right open, exposing the bone and dousing his bed in blood. He hoped, wished, prayed that this would be over soon.

Most people hated feeling scared, but they got scared so often that it blew over in half an hour. For people like Jonathan who were so rarely scared, he had no fucking idea what to do. His mind was blank except for the horror that ran through it like a hamster on a wheel. A flash of lightning lit up his room and he moaned in fear when the thunder rolled around, shaking his windows.

The worse part about all of this, no one knew about his irrational fear, not even his live-in boyfriend, Evan. In the months they had been living with each other, not on single storm had hit so Jonathan had no reason to tell him about it. How else was he supposed to bring it up? Eating breakfast together and just burst out with, “Oh, yeah, by the way, I have this really huge phobia of storms and turn into the world’s biggest pussy whenever one hits?” Yeah, that’d make a pleasant conversation he wasn’t planning on having anytime soon. But he’d have to have it if Evan got back from grocery shopping before the storm was over, and just the thought of having it scared him almost as bad as the weather.

Another flash of lightning and thunder proved that last thought wrong, as if to prove a point.

Okay, fuck looking like a pussy in front of his boyfriend. Jonathan wanted him home now. Anxiety pumped through his bloodstream, causing him to shake and his breathing to become sporadic. His fingers were sore from clutching the blankets so tightly. His face was soaked from sweat and probably tears. He was losing his grip on control little by little with every second that ticked by, and he was afraid he wouldn’t last much longer.

“Jonathan?” he heard his boyfriend call from the living room, and it was the most magical thing he’d ever heard. “I’m home. How are you feeling? Still sick, huh?”  
He tried to reply, he really did, but his throat was too tight to even whisper.

“Baby, where are you?” Evan called out again, his voice full of worry.

Still, no answer from Jonathan. 

“Knock on the closest object if you can hear me, babe.”

It was a trick they discovered worked extremely well when Jonathan was having an anxiety attack. There had been far too many times Evan had come home from a convention or visiting his family in Canada and found Jonathan having an anxiety attack, that they came up with a system that worked well for them whenever it happened.

Jonathan knocked as hard as he could on the headboard of the bed.

“Are you in the bedroom? Knock once for no, twice for yes.”

Two more booming knocks.

The bedroom door burst open, flooding the room with light, and Jonathan peaked over the covers. Evan looked panicked, concerned, and utterly confused as he made his way to his boyfriend. They moved out of pure reflex and need; Evan’s arms wrapping around Jonathan’s waist; Jonathan tucking his head under Evan’s chin; Evan’s fingers burying themselves in Jonathan’s hair; Jonathan gripping Evan’s soaked t-shirt; Evan rocking Jonathan back and forth and whispering comforting words in Jonathan’s ear.

It was a routine that happened too many times to count, and a small pang of guilt poked at Jonathan’s heart. How many times had Evan come home to find Jonathan a completely wreck? How many nights did they only get a few hours’ worth of sleep because Jonathan woke up having an anxiety attack and Evan had to comfort him until he fell asleep? How many times did Evan call him while he was away just to make sure he was doing okay and didn’t tear up the house in one of his episodes?  
Goddammit, he couldn’t give Evan another thing to be worried about. If they kept walking down this road, Evan was going to have gray hairs by the time he was twenty-five and it would be all of Jonathan’s fault.

“I-I…I’m sorry,” Jonathan stuttered out between sobs.

Evan gently wiped some stray tears away and replied, “Shhhh, sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. It ain’t f-fair that you a-a-are al-always worryin’ about me,” Jonathan gasped. He tried to push Evan away, he really did, but dammit, all those years of hockey really toughen a man up. Evan had a death-grip on him and wasn’t going to let him go any time soon, he knew it.

A few butterfly kisses on the top of his head, then his temple, and then, “I’m always going to worry about you. I know it doesn’t seem like it but I’m a nervous wreck, like, ninety-eight percent of the time.”

“And I-I ain’t help—”

“Contrary to popular belief, you’re the only thing that keeps me sane. If I didn’t have you to worry over, to comfort, to love, to take care of, I’d probably be in a strait jacket right about now. Look at me, Jonathan.”

Round, blue eyes met upturned, brown ones and slowly, the world turned into static. The storm turned into background noise, like a radio frequency being changed. Jonathan’s anxieties calmed down just enough for him to get his breathing under control, and with his breathing under control he was able to think a little clearer. The love that was shining in his boyfriend’s eyes was…amazing. Breath-taking. Heart-shattering. Goddammit, there wasn’t a word that did it justice. It broke Jonathan’s heart and put it back together again over and over, like a never-ending cycle.

Evan’s long, slender fingers traced Jonathan’s nose, his cheeks, his forehead, every inch of his face they could touch, and it was little things like that, that showed how much Evan truly loved him. “You have anxiety and that’s okay. It’s ugly and fucking hard, and that’s okay. I love you, and loving someone means staying with them through the good and the bad shit. This is one of those bad times and I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

Unable to speak, Jonathan shook his head.

“Good.” Evan laid his cheek against the top of Jonathan’s sweaty head, and if the dampness bothered him, he didn’t show it. One hand was outlining the tattoos he had memorized and the other rested against his neck, drawing small circles on the sensitive skin. He hummed a calming tune that Jonathan couldn’t quite figure out and didn’t care to. All he cared about was this moment, the peacefulness, the love that was so thick in the air, he was almost suffocating. And if he suffocated, he would have happily taken his last breath with a smile on his face because at least he died in the best way possible.

 

They woke up still in the previous night’s clothes, their legs tangled up with each other, their chests pressed together. Somewhere in the calmness, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Everything was serene, as if the storm last night washed all of the taint away. Jonathan’s heart was peaceful, Evan’s smile as achingly sweet, and they were both completely happy lying in bed together.

“G’mornin,” Jonathan slurred as he stretched out his cramped muscles.

Evan chuckled. “Good morning, baby. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty fucking good, like I can run a mile.”

Evan immediately perked up. “Is that your way of saying you’re finally going to go to the gym with me?”

“Ha, you wish, Fong.” Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Jonathan stood up and grinned at his boyfriend, who was still sprawled on the mattress with an adorable pout on his lips.  
“I actually do,” he mumbled. “Hey, baby, what caused that anxiety attack last night?”

Jonathan groaned and threw a pillow at Evan, which he easily dodged. “Don’t make me say it, please.”

“But I need to know so we can avoid it next time,” Evan expertly countered.

“It’s fucking stupid.”

“You always say that.”

“But this time it’s, like, really fucking stupid.”

“You always say that, too.”

“This is the stupidest one yet.”

“Again, say that all of the time. Seriously, Jonathan,” Evan said, all joking aside. “What was it? I need to know your triggers so I know how to calm you down sooner.”

Defeated, Jonathan sighed and plopped back down on the bed. “I’m scared shitless of storms. I dunno why but ever since I was a little kid, they’ve scared me. It stupid and I’m such a fucking pussy for being scared of some rain but—” 

“What helps calm you down?” Evan gently asked, ending Jonathan’s rant.

“Holding me, hiding under some blankets, drowning out the sound of the thunder.”

“I can do that.”

Jonathan rolled over so he could look his lover in the eye and playfully tugged on a strand of his hair. “Hey, babe?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Evan broke out with the most beautiful smile and chuckled. “I love you, too. Now, get your lazy ass up. You’ve gotta help me with the groceries that never got put away.”

**Author's Note:**

> After, like, four months I finally got around to writing this. I'm so sorry guys and this probably wasn't worth the wait lol Personal things kept coming up but I'm back at it again, baby! If you have any suggestions or requests, let me know. :)
> 
> (If the ending seems rushed and shitty, that's because it is. I wrote this in an hour while on a caffeine high and I suck at endings.)


End file.
